


Smolders

by 666XERODELUXE



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Angst, Cringe, Edge - Freeform, Edgy, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friendship, Gore, Multi, Non consensual hand holding, Non consensual punning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shit OC, Smut, bad grammar, cringey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13770996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/666XERODELUXE/pseuds/666XERODELUXE
Summary: Usurpation of Fire with some f l a v o u r.CHAPTER 3: YURIA SMUT





	1. Embers still glow

The roaring and crackling induced by the blaze enshrouding the coiled sword seemed to mitigate, as does its once ardent nature waver. A heavy clanging reminiscent to that of metal thumping adjacent to the floor emanated from the now lifeless Soul of Cinder, a large cavity visible near what would be it’s sternum - the blade which once bore through its armor now resting atop the shoulder of the swordsman who dispatched it.  Clad in black plate armor with mystical golden engravings hewn into it, a tattered cloak blanketing him - further concealing him, Krieg swiveled his wrist and sheathed his greatsword. Surmounting the barricade which denies many  beings from linking the flame, he has done his part as a lord. To link the flame earns you the mantle of a lord, a lord of cinder - and said lords are often regarded as legends capable of unfathomable feats, but using his flesh as glorified charcoal was from his ideal. 

**“This damned world, once I’m through with this it’ll all change…”** the Northerner muttered under his breath,head gyrating to the right as the muffled racket of footsteps drew closer. The pristine glint off of her beaked black helm,her flowing black gown with feathered hems with a blade sheathed on the left side of her hips. A prideful gait which tinting the air an arrogant hue with each stride she took, no doubt it was  _ Yuria _ . “ **I desired for thee to winneth this battle but was ailed by disbelief of your feats, oh forgive me my lord for ever doubting thine strength** .” The swordswoman mewled, a straggled hint of insincerity permeated through her words. “ **Wherefore the longeth visage mine lord?** ” She enquired,a naive expression bedecked her words as she tilted her head to the right ever so slightly.  **“We has’t accomplish’d our quest,now thee truly art the uncontested lord of hollows.”** Erupted from her mouth in a gleeful manner, her words a searing heat to the malleable nature of his predisposition. 

He did  _ not  _ want to feel such resentment towards Yuria,but the events of Anor Londo were utterly repugnant to say the  _ least _ . The dreary recollection which he tried hard to subdue manage to prevail at this point, what felt like a suffocating smog was unbeknownst to Yuria and the agglomeration of hollows that were just trotting towards them.  _ Wait what?  _  Despite wearing a steel helmet with a hood over it, Yuria almost immediately recognized an expression of bewilderment sketched across his face just from the way his brow furled. A suppressed giggle managed to escape from her tongue.Lightly turning her head towards his, the swordswoman brazenly sighed  **“Thee might not but knoweth yond the usurpation of flame for hollowkind is not any ordinary exploit mine own lord, as such we hath tried making this as ceremonial as possible mine liege.”** The once derelict kiln now teeming with those addled by the undead curse,one in particular caught his eye. Adorned in a unique plate armor design with  gold-engraved blue robes covering the abdomen and groin,typically bestowed to the elite knights of Astora it surely was an attenuated set,belonging to one person he was familiar with, _ Anri _ . 

The knightess strode quietly as if nothing happened in the Cathedral of Anor Londo,a glimpse into her visor showed sullen,lifeless orbs of what normally would be her eyes - _she had hollowed_. The hollowed knelt affixed in an orderly fashion facing towards the bonfire, _like a corral of livestock huh_ , Anri  in the front but positioned in the same fashion. Unperceived by Krieg was the presence of Yuria’s sister - Liliane, _she must’ve come here after the fight_ ,both clad in the same black armor-dress fusion but there were some physical contrasts from what he could see - like the fact that Liliane was smaller than Yuria in most regards and a rather lengthy blade took the place of Yuria’s Darkdrift. “ **We art waiting for thee - our benevolent lord,pluck the flame from the gluttonous deities and taketh it for hollowkind!** ” Eagerness oozing from those words out of Yuria’s mouth. Walking down what appeared to a makeshift corridor composed of kneeling hollows and a bowing pair of siblings he made his way back to the bonfire which nestled in the center of the Kiln - the first flame. Crouching down he thrusted his fist into the bonfire,throughout all of what he has witnessed the kindling feeling of this fire was overshadowed by the forlornness of the actions caused by it,truly more of a conflagration than a glorified campfire. Wrestling his extremity from the embers left his gauntlet charred and heart racing,why was such an ecstatic feeling caused from this - leftover adrenaline from the altercation with the Soul,the long awaited cultivation of this journey getting the closure he desired or mayhaps was the flame behind such bliss, or perhaps the anxiety of impressing his new subjects and his _cute_ swordswomen interloping with these already existing causes to makes something truly intoxicating. 

_Would Anri be mad if she knew he thought that._

_She's probably more aggravated about whole face-stabby thing._

Striding down, betwixt from the mass of hollows which now revered to him as their king,ruler,  _ lord  _ was all supplemental to elation, no longer was he adversed with those addled with a lack of humanity for now he was their monarch. Pulling his hood back while yanking his helted off he breathed a sigh of relief - from both defeating the Soul and a smouldering feeling of skepticism lay interior the inferno of his zealous rapture,a sour taste engulfing his mind as he began to contemplate the questions he had since the ceremony of Anor Londo -  _ What are Yuria’s true intentions and does my wife still love me? _

The second one was pretty easy to answer - being stabbed in the head for what was supposed to be a consensual state of affairs typically doesn’t leave you happy with the person who stabbed you,  _ talk about a rough honeymoon _ , but all of this is would only really matter if Anri loved him in the first place - not many people agree to marrying someone they barely know,much less being asked by a woman clad in black armor wielding a sword.

_ Now about the one clad in black _ , Yuria’s behavior is rather enigmatic, which makes figuring out her motives even more troublesome - ranging from being euphoric to aone drenched with gloom. Like a schoolgirl giddy from their first kiss she trotted towards him - ditching her pretentious stride,her strutting slowly replacing the spring in her step with despair as she neared the now grimacing Krieg. The air felt silent around the two - contrasting the jovial yelps and groans in the backgrounds, turning around he started making his way from the First Flame,back to the shrine,  _ back home _ . He could tell Yuria wanted to say something to him but simply ignored her,he wasn’t going to listen to a lying, _ manipulative little bit- Language Krieg.  _ Pulling the hood back over his head as he wandered off, disappearing from his subjects' vision. 


	2. Even Cinders Lose Their Ardent Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Usurpation of Fire angst. Shirking kingly duties and the eventual realization of his errors.

_ Pathetic is it not?  _

 

Krieg was not one to brood. It seemed pointless to someone whose sole purpose in this life was to become a human fuel source for the most depressing campfire ever. The allure of escaping such a sepulchral kismet was so magnifying, said allure was further bolstered from the idea that he could now finally save the damned from the gods, escaping his fate  _ and  _ being a hero - it sounded too good to be true.

 

_ And it was _

 

His intention was never for an ally or innocent to get harmed, but time and time again he lacked the resolve and ability to save them. His memories of his past life where nothing but a fleeting dream, the few things he did know of was him hailing from the Northern lands, said to be a place so terrifying and cold inhabited by people just as savage - _ if not more _ . 

 

_ Is that why they wanted  _ **_him_ ** _ lord?  _

 

A pliable lowbrow to do as they whim seems perfect, a pillar of strength with clearly no political background or knowledge leads to seeking those who kinged you for support. The ease would it be to contort and morph his power to their own obscure desires. 

_ He’d simple be an ennobled poster-boy _

 

Perhaps his skepticisms are degrading to down-right cyniscim, no occurrences he could cite provided any substantial averment towards the sisters of the Sable Church holding any ulterior motive, at least those he could recall. 

 

The cold steps of Firelink shrine made an vexatious seat, rising to his feet with his arms stretched in an upwards motion sending a jolt of energy throughout his body. Few undead rarely have homes to call their own. In terms of formality (and comfortability) nobody in their right could ever think of considering a near-derelict shrine a household, but when it’s filled with those who aided your arduous journey till the very end, then even the most ramshackled of hovels would feel homespun.

 

It’s been almost a month since he shirked his duty as King of Londor.He held no longing to govern a populous of hollows - simply assuming the appellation ‘Lord of Hollows’ was simply an intangible title representing the respect hollows would have once he helped strike down the gods whom oppressed them. 

 

_ Wouldn’t be very surprising if it  _ **_is_ ** _ divulged that Yuria and Liliane believed him to be a simpleton.  _

 

This jaunt started to feel as if it all were for naught. Trotting over to the shrine’s bonfire, deciding that some good old fashion bashing of gargoyles and jailers seemed  _ relieving _ , his stroll ended cold as he felt the Firekeeper’s gaze basking him. 

 

_ Well… gaze for lack of a better word, as she lacked eyes. _

 

“ **How art thou, ashen one… Please excuse me for the informalities, I meant** **_King of Londor_ ** **.** ” Stressing that last part like you’d say  _ Foreigner  _ or  _ Liberal Arts Major _ .  “ **I’m doing fine.** ” Came out as cold and hateful as he could sound. Not that he meant any of the things he felt to be directed towards her.

 

He can understand why she may seem bitter, as an Unkindled he was meant to link the fire, but now with him wresting the flame for Londor and  _ then  _ shirking his kingly duties. On top of that her purpose of fire keeper was merely to get the Ashen One to the kiln,  _ he’s heard tales of what happens to firekeepers after their champion has succeeded. _ Thrown into the tower, to be left for dead.

 

_ What an unsightly tradition _

 

The coldness in his core now knew the embrace of a new emotion festering inside -

 

_ Pity _

 

Touching the coiled sword without any thought of looking back, for if he did then he would not want to leave the shrine. Embers scattered across from the swords as his gauntlet’s cold steel came into contact with the lukewarm metal plunged into the ground. All that remaining there was the keeper looking over the now smoldering ground.

 

What drives a man to such a brink? 

 

As if they were looming over the edge of a cliff. Krieg’s angst was redolent to that of a teenager, this void performing it’s induction over his will. Hollowing surely wasn’t the cause to such a dreary state of mind, as he felt such emptiness before even knowing of the dark sigil’s wretched embrace... He has felt a little bit more alive as of lately though... 

 

The boisterous booming of a hammer slamming into solid stone - dust flying, is what broke his train of thought. Peering to his right he saw the Gargoyle’s flaming hammer crash right beside him, the creature heaving the bludgeon over it’s head for another strike is what got his blood pumping. Rolling to the side and battering the creature’s slender legs with a pair of twin maces resulted in the fragile structure cracking after a single flurry of swings. 

 

Stuck in such a destitute manner, the colossal statue began flailing it’s hammer wildy - blobs of molten rock spewing from the flame in the middle, such wide swings gave little opportunity to retaliate, but the knight prided himself in such clutch situations. Evading a horizontal swing by rolling over it gave him just the amount of leverage to grapple onto the gargoyle’s back. Pulling his greatsword out and plunging it with all of his might into the stony hide of the gargoyle bore no fruit, the beast spread and thrusted it’s wings,flapping and flailing to be rid of such pain. It didn’t faze him. Hoisting himself higher from the grip of his sword allowed him to grapple the creature’s neck,holding onto it with his left and pummelling it’s head with the mace repeatedly.  Chipping the brittle stone off was no hard task for someone of Krieg’s mettle,a few strikes and the flutter of the wings stopped - gravity ripping the heavy stone body down at such a speed. 

 

_ Seconds,that’s all there was left, mere blinks away from sudden death.  _

 

Blade seized from the titan’s back he then plunges it to the cliff side. Pulling out a sword kin to the blade nestled in each bonfire he sinks it into the earth,scaling the cliff up slowly with both blades. Exasperated from such straining labor, he plunked his body to rest beside a wall in proximity to the profaned flame. 

 

A hearty laugh emerged from his heaving chest,sweat glistening from the magma puddles light, he uncovered his head. The cool,damp underground air blanketing his weary face as a breathy sigh made way from his mouth. Dozens of Jailers lay sprawled across the floor - platinum robes strained with red. “37… 38, 38 killed without a sip of estus… Bloody hell I’ve gone rusty” escaped the fatigued Knight, relishing in his accomplishment with a certain zeal that can’t quite be explained. Gulping down his flask of estus he felt the scrapes and bruises disappear along with the familiar burning sensation engulf his interior with every trickle of the golden liquid. 

 

Throwing all weapons either onto his back or bag save for a straight sword from Lothric he made his journey back to a nearby bonfire. The trek back was far easier than expected, what little opposition he faced were felled by a few swings. Charred corpses still singe, gold and silver trinkets lined the interior of the Capital. Not sure what type of Northerner would be able to critique a piece of architecture, simple brutes they were but that’s to expected when your homeworld is just as cold and harsh as your betrothed’s father on a “Get to knoweth the other” dinner party. 

 

The ilk of those profaned by the flame were endless in numbers,  _ endless in souls _ . Replacing his straight sword for twin scimitars, he lay beside a fallen pillar - lighting enveloping the blade as his chime rang. The elegance of the swordsmanship exhibited demonstrated by the knight was nothing to scoff at,blades twirling as if he were a dancer,the crackling of lighting as the blades connected with the jailer’s soft flesh complimented their cries of agony. The satisfying  _ swish _ as his blade punctured their flesh accentuated such an abhorrent noise, maybe in his past life he was a musician, then again what person would rejoice when the sounds of anguish filled the room other than an utter sadist. Speaking of sadists these jailers weren’t the merriest folk, even before their heart subdued to the sacrilegious inferno at the heart of the Capital -  _ if  _ the words of Karla rang true. Having dispatched now what appears to be a small militia of jailers and gargoyles would leave many exhausted. Internal organs escaping their confines akin to convicts in a stuffy cell. 

 

Body thudding to the floor,held up by his knees and palms, weapons clanging as they impact the ground. That same laughter erupting from his exhausted body as it did prior. Both armor and flesh decorated with gnashes, lacterated from the numerous daggers that managed to connect with him. Viscous,red liquid pouring from each incision signalling him to gulp down the estus he had brought. 

 

Those linked to the bonfires knew not the luxury of death, for they were gifted immortality which nobody craved.

 

Producing a shard of the coiled sword from his inventory he firmly grasped it. Visions of the shrine filled his mind. Eyes fluttering open finding themselves back  _ home _ . 

 

_ Something felt off _

 

Pacing towards the interior section of the shrine he waved at the handmaiden. The clanging of Andre’s hammer against the anvil rang throughout the shrine.

 

_ That man knew not of rest _

 

Krieg visited his  _ friends _ irregularly - talking with all of them every time he visited the shrine, but in different patterns.

 

Leaping off of the right side his eyes then met Cornyx’s masked face.  **“Ahh, there you are Unkindled one, care to learn any more pyromancies from this old man?”** The pyromancer chortles. Cornyx was a masterful teacher, as his pupil - Krieg felt proud to have someone capable of dissecting such ancient scripts.  **“Actually Cornyx, I’m more interested in your piece on this spell I found in the Capital.”** Couldn’t have sounded more earnest and eager - especially from someone who was brooding,  _ and then whining about brooding _ .  **“Please do not bring such pyromancies to me, for something as rich with malice as this knows naught but the craving to incinerate flesh, such a spell engulfs both the targeted and the caster.”** Curdled the milk of Krieg’s mood, for he knew not of the terror of this spell but Cornyx’s tone was nothing to be taken lightly. Simple ‘ahhs’ and ‘okays’ were all that Cornyx received, yet still the master had some longing for the student.  **“Unkindled… The flame which you wrested, please do ever treat it so cautiously… for all fire must be both idollized and feared, I trust you of all people know how to treat such power with caution.”** Sounded akin to him describing the spell from earlier… but these words were laced with caution and a sense of gentleness that you would only expect to emerge from a mother.  **“O-okay  Cornyx.”** was all the master got in response, but never felt fret - for he knew his pupil could handle something vehement as the first flame.  **“Also Unkindled… That sorcerer which sits across from me - he has finally packed his bags…”** Rang out. Krieg knew of Orbeck’s desire to leave, that he wished “for their agreement to not end sourly”, despite the opposition from the Ashen one. 

 

This did not taint the Ashen One’s mood, for he knew of Orbeck’s whims and stubbornness; his enjoyment of running their own little school was superseded by his desire to no longer bring pain upon the Ashen one (Despite clearly not doing so.) Donning the mushroom-shaped cloth headwear of the scholars for simple amusement; for both he and Orbeck made fun of the Xanthous scholar’s ridiculous headwear.

 

Walking under the little bridge he then waved towards Karla and coiled up beside her in her little nook. Unable to stifle her snickering she then follows it up with  **“My bumbling apprentice… What lost magic are your pursuing to enable you to wear the saffron helm of the Xanthous sorcerer’s?”** Faking a reaction of taking offense, Krieg then turns his head towards the child of the Abyss and retorts  **“I presume you are not only going to poke fun at my choice of headwear and teach me that spell I’ve been trying to learn.” “Very well then my apprentice, but the Dark Edge spell is passed down from mother to daughter - just as you embrace the darkness of humanity you must embrace yourself the way a mother would to her child, the malevolence of this spell is often used as a means of killing and suicide… I hope you only use it for the latter.”** Emphasizing the final part of the sentence in a far more melancholic timbre. A moment of silence came about between the two of them, Karla appearing to tremble slightly.

 

**“Um… Ashen one - the keeper, the fire keeper, I saw her walk off towards the tower… I fret that the same fate will befall her as it did with the other firekeepers…”** The trembling now stronger after she uttered those words. Without any words between the two of them, the Ashen one waved off and scurried away to the staircase besides the entrance of the shrine. Prying the stupid crown off of his head and tossing it below him.

 

_ Don’t tell me this is my fault…  _

 

Running past the gates and up the tower, across the disheveled bridge and towards the bell tower. Inside lay the narrow passageway, the firekeeper sitting on the very edge, looming over the acrophobia-inducing gap - floor littered with the corpses of firekeepers.  **“Ashen One…  is this where my purpose ends… just as unkindled as our firekeeping duties are fulfilled we no longer know the taste of undying… I have not known life prior to tending to the flames, since birth I was fated to taking after the god’s desires, I know not the luxuries of vision since I was a child. Caring for you - as** **_my_ ** **champion of flame was all that burned inside of me… is it not ironic what I speak of?”**

 

Silence and the faint stench of corpses accompanied with ash was all that permeated between them in this dank,decrepit building for a few moments. The lingering silence cutting through them as if it was all that there was, for Krieg wanted to speak but his mouth refused to move.  **“Keepe-” “Crealta, that is the name which my mother gave me, just the utterance of it blossoms a feeling within my bosom which I’m clueless as to how I must respond to it.”** A frown curled on her thin lips.  **“** **_Crealta_ ** **… I’m not one with words, but I know that your duty is important to you… But all of us can’t bear with you dying - I’ve made up my mind… I will resume my post as King of Londor - and who better to serve as a royal advisor than you… If you would accept my proposition.”**

 

Silence is all that is left in the end, for even the fire ablaze in the most glorious of cinders extinguish… and even the smallest of embers can start a wildfire… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE THINGS WILL GET LEWD IN THE NEXT CHAPTER... Well... maybe in the NEXT-next chapter... I did like writing this chapter quite a bit. I felt like this one is less shit than the other but still giga-bad. It certainly had its ups and downs. 
> 
> L e a v e s o m e c o m m e n t s t o c r i t i c i z e m y w r i t i n g


	3. Ashen Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krieg's efforts at ruling over Londor have payed off. He notices his every regaining humanity and meets an old friend.
> 
> LEWD S E X WITH YURIA

 

**“We will be sending your people the first shipment by due time, expect a hundred-fifty bushels of grain along with two-hundred barrels of water and fifty of oil. Within the same convoy we will be transporting some excess livestock which your people will find beneficial. Please do expect more to be forthcoming as soon as we possible can. ”**

 

Summating this left the numerous pairs of eyes laying on Krieg  gleaming with admiration. Even those with noble blood looked up at him with a sense of gratitude. The descendants of those who inhabited Oolacile felt truly at peace with the now newly resolved situation. 

 

The ebon castle hewn of dark stone which functions as the main political centrifuge for Londor. Throne room harboring fifteen representatives of Oolacile, their land swallowed by the dark knew of no way to absolve their corrupted brethren, the few hundred surviving laying claim only to the name of the land of Golden Sorceries and nothing much. Willing to bequeath their crown towards Londor in exchange for providing law and order for their people here in Londor. 

 

**“Are you not going to shelter our people? For what good will all of these rations do if we have no means to store and protect it as well as us?”** One of the noblemen spoke out, pupils shrunk in anticipation - fearing he spoke out of line. 

 

Yuria’s hands twisted a little on the hilt of her blade, as if she were going to lash out at even the slightest remark made by the ravaged people. A simple look from her king and the motion of his palm caused her to regain her composure.

 

**“I feel if it would be most beneficial for you to reside in the city off to the west - Karthysia was it? It’s somewhat run down, but some of the protective walls and the garrison is still up. We can send soldiers and some labourers to help secure the land until it is fully safe for Oolacile to be considered a thriving kingdom of Man once more.”** Voice stern yet warm, Krieg’s words couldn’t have been more convincing.

 

He meant it all, every last syllable in the words he uttered to those destitute.

 

**“What is the fate of our country, we may be ravaged but we have a strong culture and set of laws. Surely it is foolish to make such an acquisitive request… But it saddens me to my core that we may not be able to partake in the same traditions my predecessors have spoken of-”**

 

**“I care not for have another nation under my thralls. While you are under our service and protections I would prefer if you pay fealty towards the crown, once you’re people are able to stand without our support we will leave New Oolacile no longer as inferiors but rather as equals. Your rulers will continue governing your people with the laws of their choosing, we will leave your cultural heritage and people alone for long as just rule is provided.”** As sharp as his tone was it still felt as comforting as one’s embrace. He knew he needed to be direct with the people of Oolacile, his straightforward tone mixed with the way his words resonated dissolved any lingering doubts they had. 

 

**“Blessings, O’ king of Londor for delivering us - for we know not of how forlorn we may find ourselves to be without your gracious aid.”** The scraggly noble cooed, his defiance in the King of Londor was found to be unrequired and he was so pleased at this. 

 

At his word the two undead knights at his side and one of the summoned servants, the lords of Oolacile were directed to the banquet hall for suitable refreshments. 

 

**“Send some down for their people as well, I would hate for them to feel peckish.”** Krieg whispered to the other servant, the undead woman obeyed without question and rushed down the halls of keep to obey his whim.  

 

**“You have done remarkably well Ashen one, I’m surprised you even considered asking me to act as your head advisor.”** the Fire Keeper spoke, sitting on a seat akin to the one he was sitting albeit much smaller and parallel to the ruby carpet leading up to the throne. Two other seats akin to hers were constructed upon his request - seating Cornyx and Karla; Irina choosing to run as an archbishop in the Sable Church . He recalls upon when he asked Andre if he wished to act as an advisor to him… 

 

**“What fer do you need five advisors, plus I’m not one of those scholars. I’ve worked with my brawn and this hammer all me life and I don’t intend to stop. I don’t think I could stop even if me head desires it, me heart and body would profusely refuse. Prithee I beg of you not to find any offense in this, but I am but a humble smith and I belong behind an anvil… But if you ever so desire what little wisdom I could offer thee I’d be happy to oblige.”**

 

A deep sigh was all that he could exert upon this thought, still his core felt like a hearth after thinking of all he’s accomplished. Such a cozy, endearing touch felt alien to him… 

 

The throne room was solemn without the bustling commotion and  _ Karla _ . However unlikely it was,the lassitude of relaxation crept in on him, idleness bred heresy and contemplation. The latter of which seemed to be affecting him, for acting as a ruler was truly alien to everything he has done in  _ this _ life; his past life was filled with the never ending dance of blades and death alike.

 

It seemed as if the silence was now louder than the commotion

 

**“Dismiss yourself Yuria - I will be retreating to my chambers for now.”** Krieg commanded with a wave of his hands - strolling down to the door of the throne room and heading right where his chambers were. 

 

Solitude was bittersweet. He loved time where he could attain peace of mind and contemplate; unusual it was for someone of his ancestry and profession of a sellsword to undertake. 

 

Body slumped over his dresser - the mirror in front of him eagerly awaiting his gaze. His skin no longer as wrinkled as they once were, face proud with life. Certainly his relishment in his appearance was not of vanity but how he’s reeling from the effects of hollowing.

 

_ Come to think of it, I’ve never felt at ease this much before. _ ..

 

_ Come to think of it I’ve also been recalling moments of my past…  _

 

His bosom felt warm, the wrested fire of the lords nestled within him surely has something to do with this. 

 

A herd of shambling hollows and forlorn undead were not the prime subjects a king would desire for. His decision to rule over them was made on a whim to preserve the life of his companion; for she felt like her lack of purpose meant he need not live - but truly he was sans purpose prior. The newfound sense of aspiration has caused something to spark within him - something which fueled the fire of passion in him.

 

**“Careful king-y, you might set your little keep on fire if you keep that up.”** _ She _ chortled.  **“Karla what have I told you about interloping at random times, these are the royal quarters and such actions will be counted as treason and invasion of privacy.”** Was all he could say, voice a little stuffy from the embarrassment of accidentally igniting his pyromancy flame.  **“It fills my heart with woe that my former apprentice and present king would want to lop of this little witch’s head off.”** The sorceresses playful manner was greeted with no scorn, as she cocked her head towards him. Walking into his room towards him  **“There’s a pressing matter needed to be taken ca-”**

 

A guard running into the quarters, panting against the doorway - shambling in her metal armor  __ **“My liege, we’ve been… Lady Karla and my lord please do forgive me for this uncouth interruption but a sorcerer has snuck into the keep, w-we caught him as he was attempting to cast something…”**

 

**“About that pressing matter my** **_king_ ** **\- the sorcerer… it’s someone you may want to see for yourself.”** These words riddled his body with anticipation - feeling that light tingling sensation in hope for who he hopes the sorcerer to be. 

 

_ It would be easy to deduce that someone infiltrating the castle would require a usage of stealth sorcery - and who more adept at that field than a Vinheim assassin? _

 

The guard looked as if she had something she really wanted to say, both her eagerness and nervousness couldn’t be contained. The prompt to let her speak was all she needed to spill out  **“We’re keeping him in the throne room per Lady Karla’s orders my L-Lord.”**

 

**“Oh so this is how the oh-so-great king of Londor treats his guests?”** snarled towards the Ashen one.  **“I don’t usually refer to those who sneak into my castle as** **_guests, Orbeck.”_ ** The sorcerer tightly bound in ropes; his staff a good few feet away from him simply to mock him. Despite their comments about the other it was easy to see the difficulty both men faced to constrain their smiles. 

 

Once Orbeck tasted freedom from his bondage, the three and soon four with the tender of fire, five with the archbishop of the Sable church and seven when Andre and Cornyx decided to show up to the banquet hall; Krieg had to force the last two to come. They dined on simple foods like toasted bread with herbed butter to more lavish meals like fully roasted boar with it’s skin still sizzling.  **“Meet me at the top of the keep when twilight strikes.”** Tickled the ears of Krieg’s comrades - and much to his dismay Andre refused. 

 

The blacksmith wanted nothing to do with this - and who could blame him? He was a simple man since the start, proficient with the hammer and he knew it wouldn’t do him any good to pretend as if he could offer counsel to Krieg. It was far enough for the servant to the fire to be treated as a friend by a champion - but for him to be considered more than a mere smith seemed blasphemous to his tongue. 

 

Winter breeze pricked at your skin, it’s talons prodding at your sensitive flesh - pleading you to give into it’s frigid clasp; Krieg remained stalwart. The highest point of the keep gave view to the entire city, it’s panoramic scenery made made an illustrious backdrop.  **“Ashen one… Am I belated?”** reverberated behind him, it’s voice soft and warm - belonging to that of Crealta. He still felt it’s letters caress him in a matter he felt unusual.

 

_ Or maybe the cold’s finally getting to him _

 

**“You’re the first one to arrive Crealta, and it is still a few minutes prior to midnight.”** Stern and straight - face still towards the city.  **“Does thou find discomfort in me arriving early?”**

 

_ He didn’t, not in the slightest; the memories of why they were alone last time was what made him as frigid as the breeze. _

 

Crealta strode right next to his side; Krieg forgot the feeling of your heart palpitating from this warmth. Cocking his head towards hers, fingers trailing down the side of her pale face; the bizarre mingling of frosty air and her tepid face invigorated the convulsing of his heart. Her shallow breaths leaving foggy clouds in their wake; his thumb stretching around her cheeks only made it worse. He leaned down toward her their faces in a proximity neither of them have experienced before. The exotic feeling of his cheeks flushed warm and red left him feeling light and woozy as moved in even closer.

 

Kissing was something he felt like he’s never experienced before, for something this intoxicating would be remembered through a hundred deaths. Crealta accepting his lips with her own made him feel airy and free, his body swelling with a warmth inside him. Their lips parting for a much needed breather, his gaze unwavering from hers.

 

**“Ashen one… thou art did marry mistress Anri, this act is blasphemous a-and wrong…”** The king slowly took his hands away from her person; melancholy drenched his face - not for this truth being revealed, but for how bittersweet his newfound humanity was. 

 

Admittedly this was a moment of weakness for Krieg. He and Crealta have always had somewhat of an awkward relationship together, especially after him accepting his royal duties.  Surely they did become closer - all of them became closer, but he feared such closeness may foster feelings he should not have, whether it be with Crealta or his other associates.

 

**Please excuse us** **_my lord_ ** **, we ran a bit late because we were bringing some beverages.”** Karla’s familiar voice piped up, followed by Orbeck,Irina and Cornyx. The dark witch’s hands filled with two bottles of wine from the kitchen - clearly she was using her newfound power to the fullest.  **“My pupil, but what was the purpose of calling us here?”** Cornyx’s ashen,husky voice questioned - the curiousness of his pupil now audible from the master.  **“Yes… Last I checked you never alluded to anything when you requested our presence up here.”** Stated the assassin. 

 

Pale moonlight blanketing them in it’s albino presence; their attention diverted from Krieg towards the sun’s counter. **“Notice anything unusual about me lately?’** Broke the serenity of the the moment, such a blunt question seemed vain in nature. **“Your… hair is looking… more lively?”** **My pupil have you done something with your hair?” “Did my apprentice finally wash that scalp of his?”** Cluttered the air around, the words suffocating him with thoughts of dread.

 

_ Was my hair seriously that bad before? _

 

**“No I haven’t done anything with my hair nor my face but it does look lively does it not?”** Krieg exclaimed towards the group - clearly taken back by their comments about his hair.  **“You are right aren’t you… still what wondrous sorcery have you been using - have you been using that  facial cream made specially for mistress Anri’s plight?”** Karla mocked. Clearly her words were not welcome.

 

**“No Karla I’ve not been stealing my wife’s facial cream - nor have I been using sorcery. I do believe the wrested flame of the gods play a part in this though.”** Came out as coldly as he could muster; and much to Krieg’s delight Karla was a bit taken back by his sharp tone.

 

**“You may be onto something there… actually that is a rather lucid claim you have.”** Chimed Orbeck.  **“Within humanity lies true darkness, but can the dark exist without the light?”** Karla affirmed.  **“And just as the darkness lay nestled within our bosom - so must the fire.”** This time from Cornyx. 

 

**“H-hang on Karla, you’ve claimed all humans are plagued with darkness within them, have you not?”** Krieg interrogated.  **“Plagued is inaccurate, as some seek out to cultivate it. ...I do recall some texts regaling of how each human possess a wicked agglomeration of the dark soul itself - a fragment of the fourth lord soul bequeathed to the furtive pygmy. Whilst it is a wee spark from the first flame - it holds a counter towards it with its profound darkness. I do believe that the ardent blaze of the lords may nurture and counterpart the dark in our cores.”** Karla quieted down from her little speech.

 

Irina squirmed a little, she looked like she was urgent to say something yet couldn’t get herself to.  **“Speak if you wish Irina, there’s no reason to be meek.”** Ready to comply to his eager attitude.  **“T-the lords flame will satiate the darkness of humanity whilst o-offering it’s long desired final piece… A-A miracle written by the priest of Carim detailed how darkness f-feeds on the fire and the fire feeds on the darkness… maybe such c-contrasts within us could excommunicate the dark sigil”** Meekly arose from her lips. 

 

Cornyx was always a cautious man, and Krieg knew he had to give his final piece on the matter or the man would not rest. Krieg nodded at him, prompting him to say what lay on his mind.  **“Unkindled one… fire is something one must both fear and idollize… for it’s benign self could both warm someone to their core and wreak havoc. The flames which enshrouded the  bonfire terrify me, but every pupil must be open to words from those other than their master.”**

 

**“So it is settled then, the ashen one will provide fire to those all under his counsel and rule?”** Krieg giving her a smile and nod of affirmation answered Crealta’s question. 

 

The rest of the night was filled with friendly banter and such things the lot of them missed so earnestly. Companionship eased all wounds which never healed, yet sadly they had to depart for each of them needed to prepare for the day ahead of them.

 

The clanging of shackles and incomprehensible gargling filed the sound of Londor’s prison hold.  **“The cells are no place for someone of royal prestige to visit my lord, such unfathomable horrors are thrown down here for their violent acts… even by the standards of hollows.”** The old jailer croaked. Krieg took her words not to heart, for he had something he needed to confirm.

 

His perverse actions at Anor Londo was something he recalled rather often. This was something he could’ve avoided by simply not complying to Yuria’s request - but would the alternative have been any better? Her corpse still lay over the ceremonial cloth, yet he further defiled her corpse by robbing it of it’s dark sigils. 

 

The Queen of Hollows was mad, even by hollow standards; for she did not act aimlessly as other hollows - she simply lay motionless for the most part. Locked in this dingy cell for “her own safety” was suggested by Yuria, but Krieg feels as if there is more behind her proposition. 

 

Grasping the dank steel bars which prohibited access from both sides he peered over at his wife laying atop the stone slab which they jailers referred to as a bed.  **“I will put you back together… once I figure all of this out you won’t know the chilling clasp of undeath.”** Same cold manner he was accustomed to, for no matter how human he ends up - he’ll remain cold when it comes to matter of the heart.

 

Light and darkness seem to be interlocked in an ageless conflict, yet few understand the reliance they have on the other.

  
  


**“There we go…”** She breathed softly as the crown nestled atop her leige’s head. Yuria spent time adjusting Krieg’s headpiece to the perfect angle - much to his scorn of course.

 

What a simple yet ingenious and ever so inexplicable charm it held - both her king and the crown.

 

Onyx gems and a single sapphire lay betwixt in the coiled mess of a crown - Slim bands of silver curling in an elegant manner. The crown was befitting of a man such as Krieg, both seemed ever so easy to understand at a glance but soon you felt yourself lost in the intricacies. Light striking the onyx ever so lightly revealed the beige bands; a copula of soothing colors lay interior the ebony stone. 

 

**“Mine very own lord, thy attire behold rather presentable, yet such robes pale in comparison to how fair thou art. Surely the counsel will view you not only as their equals but as their superior!”** She piped up, rather uncharacteristically of the swordswoman of the Sable church; unsettling her lord. Perceived as someone so cold and driven to finding a lord has not helped her reputation as a  _ companion _ , neither as a friend or lover. Her position knew not the opulence of such trivialities. 

 

_ Thou’rt a mentor of londor, a lover is simple folly for us. _

 

**“Yuria, how long to you plan to straddle my face?** ” Astonished her, his tone both searing and pleasant. It bore the same feeling as your mother scolding you - both surprisingly full of warmth and agitation. 

 

_ She craved more. _

 

It struck a chord within her. She felt beads of sweat pool up under her beaked helm; her body quivering as her heart continued to flutter. Face flushed a strawberry hue, vivid streaks lined  with embarrassment - though he would never know. A simple  **“Sorry my liege.”** was all that she was able to muster in this state, despite wanting to let out  _ far more. _

 

Making their presence scarce from the room was lugubrious, for they would no longer be alone. His gait never once tainted by the pride a king should possess, presenting in an airy, approachable manner - one which never pleaded for respected but reaped it regardless. The jet tailcoat matched with a cream interior simple accentuated this affect. The simple crown furthered the practical and clean look of his apparel. Striding down the hall yielded many bows and curtsies from undead manservants and maids under the thralls of their Ashen liege. Normally it would be one of the manservants getting him prepared, but Yuria felt as if she should take the role for today. 

 

_ How hard can it be? _

 

Not hard whatsoever actually. Refusing the aid from his manservants and now Yuria, he always dressed himself. They simply aided in the simple task of fetching the clothes he desired to adorn himself in. 

 

Disrobing his bedchamber attire was all but mundane, revealing a lean - yet muscular build underneath those robes, muscles clearly defined yet weren’t grotesquely massive. She pitied the queen for being too hollowed out of her damned mind to enjoy such an  _ invigorating _ show. 

 

The counsel of representatives from Carim weren’t to be taken lightly. As one of the few kingdoms which still clutches onto its power to this day - admittedly still being stripped of its former glory - is surely to be testitute to its strength. The introduction of a new kingdom is just as the introduction of a new pup to the pack; the newcomers survival strongly depends on the more adept member’s decisions and care. As King he couldn’t have handled the situation any better, his speech and retorts mirroring that of the silver-tongued protagonists of many fables. 

 

**“Londor has no need to quarrel with Carim as we are but a fledgling nation just as I am a fledgling ruler. I garner no pride in this position from the power I hold, but rather the people I serve, our brief little soiree shows that we both aren’t in the position to wage-out-war.  I believe there is no reason for us to be forlorn and oppose one-and other especially in such destitute times for mankind. Would it not be wise for the remaining kingdoms of humanity to band together as one - as for what stick cannot be broken alone, and what bundle can be broken together?”**

 

Thoughts of him were getting more and more frequent. The only thing which kept this from being classified as an illness was the fact that it wasn’t contagious. Truly bittersweet it was, admiring her liege from afar in his ever so radiant brilliance. She was closer to him than no other; yet she was never as close as she desired. 

 

It was obscure even to her as to how and when she developed such a fancy towards her liege.  Not saying that he wasn’t worthy of such affections, by the gods he was worthy of it a hundred times over. Yet she pondered as to how he stole her heart so briskly; it was not long ago where she merely viewed him as a dupe in getting her and her sister control over the hollows.

 

Yet it all changed when he engaged in wedlock with Anri… Prior to this he was following his orders like a dog, yet now he had confronted her about what madness he was ordered to do at the wedding ceremony.  A perverse spark lit inside of her, being scolded by someone she deemed  _ inferior _ birthed a twisted admiration for him - soon growing into something of profound respect. Such conflict also opened up a sliver of his personality, such a menial discovery strangely prompted her to unravel more.

 

The dark sigil’s fetid syndrome once did plague him with a rather repugnant, aged face; it is unknown how his appearance came to resemble that of his former self. Skin as if it were kissed by the sun’s benevolent ubiquity gave him a healthy complexion - just as those from the northern lands possess. Thin, wavy strands of Obsidian tint protruding from his scalp, flowing down the sides of head gave him both a refined yet approachable look. A conundrum was found in his facial-structure - oddly both sharp and slightly childish; the contrast between a mature and young look. The way his lips furled, sullen brown eyes darted revealed someone who lacked innocence and naivety; for he never made it seem that he craved such things, as if he  _ knew _ he was destined to be a martyr for Man.

 

The face he presented was ever so solemn and  _ cool  _ while in the presence of the court, but the way his true hues were made to light in the presence of his companions was somewhat endearing. Her lord easily was one of the kindest and most intelligent person she had met. His lack of memories and political understanding made him rather inexperienced as a king, but was shown to learn quickly from the world around him. He found no amiability in injustice, his former servitude as a pawn to the gods made him both empathetic yet skeptical. He was shown to be charismatic and witty whilst also sarcastic and bawdy, hiding the latter when in court. Yuria knew how anxious he was ruling over the hollows, yet he never let his fear falter him in his duty. Staying as wise and unbiased as he could muster for this long showed the merits of a true ruler of Men.

 

Yuria knew not of why she was going to do what she was planning to do. The conflict amidst her mind raged on for long enough, and she fears she may have let the wrong side claim victory.

 

She pushed the door to her liege’s room open, making no effort to silence the noise simply to alert him. 

 

It truly had slipped her mind that Krieg was planning on seeing how things went in the city when she muttered  **“Oh thou aren't in you room.”** A devilish smile crept upon her face, out of both her disappointment of his scarcity and anticipation for what she could do.

 

Doffing her helm let the cool Londor air caress her snow-like skin,silver mane flowing from her helm as if it were a waterfall. Her barely breathable helm made the atmosphere feel cakey to her. Closing the door in, knowing well and good that not one servant intrudes upon the royal chamber without the king’s permission, even her majesty is unaware of her liege’s company in the room. Other than the occasional servant he has warranted, the room only felt his presence. She was unsure of what he did here. The room painted a somber grey matching the rest of the dull aesthetics, small decorations and furniture carved from ebony wood filled up some of the empty space, a silver colored bed with dark sheets and gold hemmings looked both attractive and simple - perfect for her Ashen Lord. She kneeled besides the bed, feeling it's sheets under her gauntlet, prying them off so she can feel their velvety texture in her palms.

 

It wasn’t about the sheets, she could care less about the paltry luxuries of royalty. It was about it being  _ his _ sheets. The insanity brought on by love surely was one that could never be compared. Prying the pieces of metal off of her body, she slipped he self into the bed.

 

_ It smelled so good _

 

Squirming a little under the warmth and comfort of the blanket, she took deep enjoyment in this. She took a deep sigh of relief as she inhaled deeply, hints of charcoal tickled her nostrils in an odd yet pleasing way. It was ecstasy being here where her lord slept. The suffocating embrace of her fatigue-inducing position and the overwhelming comfort of his bed made her drowsy, finding herself falling under the spell of weariness.

 

**“Ahh Yuria you’re finally awake.”** Greeted her ears, warm breath causing her to shiver under its comforting touch. Arms wrapped around her, clenching her closer to  _ him _ . Shivers reverberated throughout her body - the tingling sensation made her feel oh so vulnerable to his touch. 

 

Easing herself from his clasp only to turn to him to confirm her doubts… and much to her pleasure she found herself face to face with Krieg. Pulling her in close to him, head buried in his chest while his body enveloped her in his warmth. Unmistakably nothing felt as amazing as her king’s embrace; head rearing towards his - lips quivering from the vulnerability she felt. Her racing heart combined with her aversion scar-lined face visible to him she found herself unable to make any  _ other _ decision in the heat of the moment.

 

Doing the unthinkable, she pressed her lips against his. The palpitation of her her heart continues to beat faster and faster, it’s hasty rhythm caused her body to be flushed a warm sensation. Legs squirming from the heat amid them. Yuria could not think of anything during this, except for the profane through which ran adrift into her mind. A woman of church should harbor such  _ naughty  _ thoughts… maybe the king punishing her for these sins would set her straight… 

 

She thought she had lost herself in this lascivious prison of her own design until his tongue broke into her mouth. Her bones and muscles gave way, for she became powerless once dubious to his return of affection,  _ now  _ experiencing his requite in unbridled passion. Lips breaking from their union left both breathing profusely as if they were submerged underwater for minutes.  **“By the gods Yuria, you sure are eager this early in the morning.”** He panted, as if he  _ wasn’t _ appalled by the scars weaved across her face. 

 

Being a swordswoman so stalwart in her duty left constant reminders of those times she slipped up in combat. Yuria wasn’t suffocated by undeath, and such feats she had accomplished are magnified by this. Yet a swordswoman can rarely be a lover - her life devoted to her cause and not anything else. 

 

**“M-m-** ” 

 

Her heart throbbing at such a pace offered no help to her tongue, and neither did his intense,welcoming gaze.

 

**“M-my lord… are you not perturbed by the scars across my face…”** Barely came out at all, voice shaky and words shallow sonically yet heavy emotionally. She felt her lip quivering once more; her topaz eyes looked as if they were to water. 

 

He chuckled at her words; hand on the side of her face - caressing the scar across her cheek with his thumb.  **“No why in the world would I feel bothered by something so superficial?”** His forehead nudged towards her in a playful bump, fingers running through her silver locks. 

 

Her flustered face had its once pale cheeks painted a lively red as he brought his nose to her’s. 

 

Their kissing was unlike that before, whilst still sloppy this one’s essence consisted of ravenous lust and ardent passion. Their tongues craving dominance over the other as they explored the moist caverns of their mouth. Impossible to fully describe, but it was intoxicating; the sound of their voracious kisses breaking, and the gasping choruses pleading for oxygen and sweet nothings. 

 

Krieg atop his subordinate, devilishly dexterous hands making their way from her shoulder to get a feel of what he was indulging. Finding interest in how her waist curved and getting a teaser of how her built legs’ seemed to react under his touch. 

 

Their bout of passion continued on for what seemed like days but what felt like seconds. Sweat like dew resting on a leaf yes this held no purity, for these beads were produced from their strangely primal yet loving display.

 

His warm, sun-like eyes now streaked with a wicked blaze. let her know what was forthcoming. Contrasting his voracious glare with his glib motion in prying her dress off to her waist seemed so fucking  _ bad _ . All she could do was meekly squirm out of her dress as he uncovered her top half and nod in acceptance.

 

The grin forming of his face looked good with his eyes teeming with the fire of life; such reactions placated her notion that he wouldn’t be averted by her scars. Those sly hands seemed knowing exactly what was required to drive her insane, found carefully caressing her to build up anticipation to be overwhelmingly effective. Getting ever so close to her sensitive bits only for his hands to move away leaving nothing but the desperate hope he’d pepper her with more affection. 

 

She didn’t want to wait longer, nay she  _ couldn’t _ wait longer.  **“Don’t tease me so my Lord! Put thine hands on mine chest  ...Do forgive me for speaking so bawdily towards thee…”**

 

Such  _ cute _ words could only be rewarded with a kiss, and of course by graciously offering her request.  _ What king doesn’t listen to the needs of his people, especially one so inviting. _

 

The torment of watching his hands steadily make their way towards her chest raised every goosebump on her body. A flush of intoxicating lust ripping away every last bit of innocence she tried feigning, sensual desire being left in its absence. When they found their place at her snowy-white bosom it elicited her breathing to be even rougher. Massaging the pliant and pert flesh of her chest so tenderly whilst his eyes stayed monitoring the responses fucked with her so badly. 

 

An unholy warmth burned deep within her abdomen, a feeling she hated for how weak it made her. Thumbs languidly making circles around the sensitive nubs of her chest drove her wild, uncontrollable mewling fueled his resolve. 

 

A relentless onslaught of kisses subdued her even further, first one pleased her lips, then on he made his way downwards. Kissing her neck, then her collarbone and a feigning innocence in his gentle peck amidst her breasts. Electricity darted through her frame in response to his oral treatment to her left breast. Tongue running across her chest, suckling it insistently yielded yet another involuntary moan from her. Yet he couldn’t lend her any measure of leniency, now could he?

 

Yuria could impishly feel his right hand creep up from her waist, making its way around the curve of her hips. Goosebumps were left in the wake of his hands, their journey further fueling her ecstacy. The cupping and sudden fondling of her other breast caused her to jolt backwards. The inviting hardness caused from the fondling only seemed to invigorate him. He continued to twiddle her nipples with increased frequency, drool leaking from the side of her lips as if she were in the presence of a decadent feast. 

 

She could do nothing but recoil from the show he’s putting on. His surprising amount of skill and eagerness prompted her to feel things in places that she had never felt before. That feeling of such pleasure and unfamiliarity increasing with every second spent pondering the intricacies of his finely carved body. 

 

Her body slick with cool sweat contrasted the fire which burned deep within her.  Two bodies carrying the complimentary boiling blood provided by lust. Craving exploration. Craving touch. Each time his hands embrace her body, it feels as if he’s personally pleasing each and every nerve all at once. His lips rediscovered hers, and continued to do so until her body called out for  _ more _ . His eagerness leading him to places of hers longing to be touched. 

 

Stealthily Krieg’s hands shifted downwards from her breast, cold fingers laced with sweat lightly tracing over her stomach left a tingling sensation which sent shivers throughout her body. Teasingly Krieg inched ever so nearly towards her aching womanhood only to dart away towards her thighs. 

 

He found her toned thighs quite interesting, a perfect mingling of muscle and fat made it rather pleasing to the touch. His fingers running along every crease and indent, tantalizing the supple flesh with his electrifying touch. Her sense of touch magnifying in sensitivity as his jaunty fingers inched nearer  _ and _ nearer. 

 

All she could do was meekly bite her lower lip as his fingers ran across it. Shameful it was to see the man who you proclaimed as ruler to stoop so low as to meet your carnal desires in such a passionate manner, even more shameful it was to feel some of her nectar seep out from his touches. Yuria felt the steady rhythm of his pixieish teasing as his devious strokes gradually built up speed.

The swordswoman’s attempts to not make any more embarrassing noises failed miserably. Her soft pants and mewls now full blown moans of ecstacy was all that filled their eardrums and she hated herself for it. Hips bucking from his hand, she felt her legs turn to jelly as he continues his lustful act.

 

Krieg seemed absorbed in his  _ duty _ ; a studious look as if he was documenting their bout of love. It felt  _ so _ good to see him so engrossed in her, this was all she’s been thinking about for so long. To show skinship with the man she called king and to share a bed with him. 

 

Chest heaving, lower muscles jerking from each and every stroke of her partner. What little control she had over herself was fading by the second; leaning in closer to him with every brush. Truly such sweet torture couldn’t get better, but when he found her clit all bets were off.

 

Legs parted from a force not of her own, but of the work put in by his gentle fingers. Pleasure boiling within her she felt like a kettle ready to release its steam and give in. Krieg’s light pants only multiplied her stimulation, but such a wicked man wouldn’t offer a shred of leniency to her. As soon as she felt like the pressure buried in her would finally release, he withdraws. Inciting a disheartened whimper to leave her mouth, as she peered up to see why he stopped. 

 

Throwing her ankles above his shoulders was truly the most astonishing thing that day, and by the gods did some arousing things happen that day.  His aching, stiff member desperately tried to escape from his shorts, constrained by the thin fabric she could feel it try to spring loose. In the most agonizingly slow manner he pried his undergarments off, freeing his ensnared length from its restricting confines. Like a rod of white-hot steel plucked from the furnace, its lively presence seemed to radiate onto her. Yuria’s eyes were glued onto his throbbing manhood, absorbed by the fine intricacies of his cock. Each and every individual vien spiralling upwards - stopping a bit before his bulbous head. His cocky gaze and a sly smirk born from her careless staring forced Yuria into an even more submissive state. **“Awfully quick to stare and quicker to withdraw my** **_love_ ** **, say the word and I’m yours.”**

Sharp,precise and fast were those words; an arrow soaring and plunged deep within her chest. He couldn’t have broken his silence any better, with words that titillated her emotionally and physically. Quiver of her lips and a nod was all she could do; her speech was incoherent so she refused to speak.  **“What’s that? Absolutely nothing… well I could’ve swore you were enjoying it. Looks like we’re done for the night.”** Hot and heavy breath escaped from her gaping mouth, mustering what little sanity left in her fucked mind she pleads  **“I… I want you inside of me.”** ; legs frondesce to prove her vivid arousal. 

 

**“Serviceable… but I’ll have to punish you for being a bit hesitant.”** Rubbing his girth against her clit. Deliciously painful it was to be treated in such a manner, powerless to his dirty whims - not to say her mind was pure of thought. Impatience swelled inside of her rather quickly, unable to continue his treatment of her, she let out one final plea.

 

**“Don’t hold back on me now… m-make me yours~”**

 

All he needed to satiate his mischievous desires; a single, smooth thrust ended her luscious torment. Fingers firm on her hips, she felt his shaft slide in and out of her trembling pussy. Thrusting good and hard into her left her in even more of a degenerative state; the sweet mewling of ardor merging with the wet noises of intercourse filled their ears. Writhing against her lover, Yuria’s hands dug into the bed she lay on; toes curling from the friction between her thighs.

 

Looming over the edge of climax was served to her on a silver platter by her Lord himself. This spell of sweaty abandon left her legs and arms numb-or maybe the sensation in her pussy was so overwhelmingly strong that her mind couldn’t bother to process anything else.  

 

The impetus of his frenzied thrusting found that sweet spot which lay deep within her. Her abdomen wounding tighter to each thrust of his cock,  she felt as her womanhood clenched tightly around his sizeable member-as if to further milk him of his viscous seed. Her abdomen wounding tighter to each thrust of his cock. Deliberately grazing her sensitive parts with his member sent Yuria to another world. Nymphomaniac-like whimpers spilled from her lewd lips. 

 

She was at her limit. Ecstasy replaced the blood in her veins; the final release of her juices as her opening relaxed. Her orgasm took ahold of her senses-incomparable bliss was the best she could describe inercourse with Krieg. Buzzing head in a blur as his dick buried itself as deep as it can, grips on her hips even more rigid, his syrupy semen spilling deep inside. Yuria didn’t protest, welcoming his tainted seed inside her. Collapsing atop of her, Krieg looked at her with an earnest smile peppered with mischievousness.

 

**“Would it be wrong to assume my lover enjoyed herself?”** Laced with exasperation. A meek nod was all she could respond with. 

 

_ Tell him you love him, tell him how much you love him. _

 

**“I… I love you my lord.”**

 

…

 

**“What in the world were you doing in my bed Yuria?”** Sharply rang out to her; words tasting akin to the man who made love to her. Color rushing to her all at once, Yuria found herself awoken in her liege’s bed and found its owner looking down to her. 

 

**“M-My lord - t-th-”**

 

**“Yeah yeah, save whatever you planned to tell me - I care not for it. Just scuttle off so I can rest.”**

 

Albino face a vivid red from this situation, she took her belongings and left with her head down. Pale moonlight creeping through the openings in the keep blanketing her in its aura. She had a lot to think about, and a lot to do with the blasphemous thoughts that remained in her mind.

 

.

.

.

 

**“... Why is the bed moist…”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot bigger than my other ones, and for good reason. I realized I hadn't been putting enough effort into these and the more I wrote of chapter 3 the more engrossed I became in trying to make it better. All of this wouldn't have been possible if it wasn't for my friend.
> 
> Not trying to sound condescending but if you ever want to take up writing-whether that be as a hobby or professionally- find someone passionate about your work (Or at-least passionate in helping you realize your goals. I know it's rich coming from an amateur, but I feel like without her assistance the chapter wouldn't have been nearly as good as it is now.


End file.
